Brink of Eden
by NightDreamers
Summary: One's desire to avenge his past, and another to take what is his. The other, delving into one's self and discovering hidden feelings that he never knew or thought he'd have. It's a race against time to stop a killer...ScotxEng and other Pairings.
1. Case File: 1

**A/N: We're alive! And we're back with a new story~ We hope you enjoy it, and please Review! Rated T for violence (mostly) ^^**

**Chapter One**

The bright morning sun rose just over the horizon; the sound of birds chirping drifted through an open window, and a gust of wind lightly scattered papers across a wooden desk. Lounging on the chair with feet propped up on the desk was a tall man, muscular but not bulging—lean was his stature; with dark red hair and only lightly tanned skin. A newspaper covered his closed emerald eyes while his head reclined on the back of the chair. At peace he was…well, for a moment at least.

If one watched carefully, they could see his fingers counting down the seconds before the door to the office slammed open. An angry blonde came storming in, his bushy brows bent downwards in extreme annoyance as he threw down a file onto the desk. "You call this 'investigated thoroughly?'" he yelled, forest green eyes flickering with rage. "This is the most shoddily-put-together-report I've ever seen!"

The older man lifted a brow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Really, Kirkland? That's the same report ye gave me yesterday." He yawned, "Only, I've rewritten a neater copy since then."

Allistor Scott pulled the newspaper from his face, his smirk now clearly visible to his Senior Officer, Arthur Kirkland. Not that the blonde needed to see his face to know he was smirking—he could _feel_ it. He stood straight, arms crossing over his chest with no lack of stubbornness.

"Well, I'm only reminding you how terrible it was. A _Chief_ such as you should do better the first time!"

A breathy laugh passed Allistor's lips, quite amused at the blonde's rant. "And ye? How many of your reports have been perfect the first time?" He leaned back again, seeming quite content with himself. "Besides, I wrote it that way to see if ye were paying attention. I could have written it perfectly if I wanted to, the first time."

His eyes narrowing, Arthur pointed at a stack of files, about a hand off the desk. "And I suppose you did the exact same thing to 'test' me with these?"

"Those are perfectly written."

Obviously not believing the detective, he picked them up and flipped through them. "Huh, guess you're right." He grunted, "Then again, you probably had Beilschmidt write them."

Allistor said nothing, only lighting a cigarette and resting it on his lips with a satisfying intake of the tobacco. Arthur curled his lips in disgust before turning on his heel to exit the room, but he was stopped by an object hitting the back of his head. He turned, eye twitching at the once tightly-rolled newspaper on the floor while the Scotsman walked past.

"There's our next case," said Allistor as he pulled his overcoat from the coatrack and his black gloves from the pocket. "Don't slow everyone down now, rookie. Everyone out there is already ready to go." He then pointed as he opened the door, where a smirking silver-haired man and a younger smiling brunette stood with scarves wrapped around their necks.

"Come on Arthur, gotta show Feli here the ropes," the other senior officer cackled. "Being rude to the Chief isn't the most awesome way to train new recruits, y'know."

"Sod off," came the short reply as the newspaper was picked up off the ground, Arthur's teeth grinding at being called a rookie. There were so many things he could do to get the man removed from his place as chief, but every time he tried all the evidence that he knew existed disappeared.

His musings of the hatred he held for the ginger ended rather abruptly as he looked down at the headline, his blood running a degree colder. "They don't really think it's _him_ again?" He called to Allistor.

The man turned, eyes dark as an ember fell from the cigarette between his teeth. "We can only hope that this scene proves otherwise," he growled, all joking set aside as Arthur looked back down at the news article.

"Off we go."

The three others followed him through the doors, where carriages, small food markets, and citizen's walking the streets came into view under the bright sun. It was busy this time of day, people bustling to work and children running off to school. Yet in the crookest corners of the city dwelt the twisted, insane, and very _intelligent_ criminals. One could argue that the one they were tailing, the one they'd been after for more than a year, was smarter than the investigators themselves.

There were two detective agencies here in the city; both most often competing to win the jurisdiction of the case. At times, it was first come first serve (if one was to word it that way.) But a lot of the time the police would call one of them and different teams would take on the case. Though it was during cases like this one, when the entire city was in danger, that they butted heads the most. So no one was surprised, not even the police on standby, when both arrived simultaneously.

"Oi!" shouted Matthias, "What're you doin' here? This is _our_ investigation."

Allistor dropped his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it as he drew closer to his blonde rival. "Oi? You bloomin' idiot, we were here first!"

"My foot was on the scene first, so scurry off and find some low-life break-in that your team can handle," replied the tall, smirking man.

"Actually, sirs-"

"Stay out of it!" Both of the chiefs snapped at the police officer.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur stepped forward. "What is it, sir?" he asked quietly, taking the offered notepad that held the officer's notes.

With eyes filled with disgust at the crime in his district, the he opened the door to the warehouse. "I think you'll both have plenty to work on, without ever getting in the others way."

"That is arguable," mumbled Arthur. He looked back to the two shouting superiors before following the man inside. He'd been on the force for about seven years, so he knew his way pretty well around investigations. Better, he would say, than that stupid blockhead of a chie—

Before he could continue his confident stream of thought, he was suddenly pushed to the side and onto the floor. The notepad was gone, and when he looked up, the Chief was reading over it with his back turned towards the scene, and Matthias Lavsen by his side with his arms crossed over his chest.

With eyes darkening as they swept the room, the Dane scowled, "This is sick."

"It's him, Matthias," was the cold reply from Arthur's chief. "Left the same calling signs and everything, too perfect to be a copycat."

The three eldest members of the forces exchanged looks as the other four members moved carefully around the four dead bodies hanging from the ceiling. "It's my case Allistor, he was my target long before you joined the force."

The redhead sneered, turning away to do his own examination, "Ye have no cause to pursue it besides records, I do." Arthur quirked a brow as he followed his chief, ignoring the now familiar smell of rotting flesh.

"Four women, judging from the decomposition, the first had been killed six months ago and the latest was last night," reported Gilbert as they made their way over. "And Vargas is out back throwing up, out of the public eye though—so unaweseome."

Allistor rubbed the back of his head, his expression blank though his eyes were closed. "I need a drink," he breathed out roughly. "Anyway, after the rookie gets done spilling his guts, search around the area for any clues. Arthur and I will take the scene for now."

With that, everyone split off to their given assignments. Arthur dismissed his badgering thoughts for now, he'd sift through them later. By no means had the other team given up their chance for jurisdiction. But in the end, they were called in for a different case across town and left.

* * *

><p>The office was silent except for the flicking sound of papers being flipped through and the soft voices of the new recruit and his mentor as the latter attempted to teach the young man how to log facts and clues for easy access.<p>

Arthur sat at his desk, looking through the missing people reports. According to Allistor, and hating the fact the man knew more on an old case then he did, the method of operation for the man they were looking for was kidnap, kill immediately, and store until he had the number of victims he wanted. So the date of the bodies' deaths was the best time to look for disappearances.

With the young females, it was a surprise there wasn't a more, violent method to kill them, but it was always the same cut along the throat and carving out of the flesh above the heart and forehead. Nothing else was touched, nothing else was done, as if it was a ritual known only to the man...

Arthur shivered slightly, a cold chill going down his back. He only had a little brother, no sisters or loves to worry about, but for the poor souls they'd have to deliver the news too...

"Bonnefoy." His head came up from the files, eyes burning with a heavy anger at the name from his Chief's lips before he realized the man was on the phone. "Ay, this is Scotty. I need ye to get down here, we'll be needin' yer talents." After a few minutes of further silence from him, a small scowl appeared on his lips, matching the one Arthur had been wearing since the conversation had started. "Nae, I can't wait till morn idiot, this needs to be done today." Short, annoyed words could be heard from the other end then. "Thanks, see ye tomorrow."

He looked up, eyes questioning at the accusing look in the senior officer's eyes, "What?"

"Why'd you call that blasted frog?" Arthur growled. "All he's likely to do is fawn over the skulls of those girls."

"Yeah, and that's exactly what I want him to do. What's yer problem with the artist?"

Arthur crinkled his nose and turned it up high. "He's a lecher; with both men and women. Either way, guess it doesn't matter if it helps the case." Francis Bonnefoy was an artist who traveled around helping with investigations at time, but that didn't change the fact that he was a pervert, no matter how one looked it.

"Glad ye got yer head straight, then," said Allistor. He looked around his office, pleased at the fact that everyone was on task. Well, besides Arthur over here. He looked to the clock, and then sighed at the time as he lit a cigarette to set on his lips. "Alright, everyone can go home. Be back bright and early tomorrow!" He pulled his overcoat back over his shoulders before turning his gaze to a frowning Arthur. "Ye too, ye nippet fool."

"Just because you're a higher rank thank me, doesn't mean you can insult me whenever you want, you bloody idiot!"

Allistor walked over to him, hands in his pockets and cigarette polluting the air with smoke.

"Doesn't it?" He lifted his leg and set his foot on Arthur's chair. The blonde looked up to him, eyes wide as Allistor pushed him back rolling into the wall.

Gilbert cackled, pulling on his jacket as Feliciano covered his mouth in shock. "Just ignore them Feli, they'll be like this until the case ends, and after that too. It's how our awesome team works. Awesome because I'm in it, of course!"

While he guided the younger man out with past stories of the fights that he had witnessed since the Scot had taken the position, Arthur straighten his chair, pushing his ruffled hair back down. "What exactly was the purpose of that you bloody barbarian?" He snapped, his large eyebrows pushed down in disbelief.

"Ta get ye fired up o'course. Ye work better mad," came the smart reply. "And ye might want to get those brows checked out, they might not be healthy." With a mocking salute to the fuming man, Allistor grinned, "I'm off to have a pint and see what information I can get from the other team. Don't go out chasing faeries again, I won't be around ta help yer sorry hide."

The blonde's faced reddened, and seemingly satisfied with his response, Allistor turned on his heel and left the agency. Arthur grumbled to himself, standing straight with dignity. He worked better when he was mad? Well then, he must be _great_ at the job because there wasn't a moment that passed by where he wasn't furious at the guy.

"Later," he said, sending a wave to his coworkers. So what if he talked to faeries? They were better company than that red head. He let an exasperated sigh pass his lips. Well, he loved his job, so he wasn't going to let him ruin that. Why was he even thinking about him in the first place? Work was over, damn it!

He needed to get home and make sure his brother was back at the house when the curfew he'd assigned the teenager was met. Why was he such a rebel when the two boys he ran around with behaved themselves perfectly?

His eyes narrowed, thoughts entering his mind in rapid succession. Alfred, the blue-eyed menace, had been complaining for weeks that the girl he copied off of at the school (Arthur did not approve at all) had been missing for a while now. She was an orphan, easy picking off the street. If Alfred knew her, he might be able to ID one of the bodies. If he saw her on the night of her disappearance, he could easily be linked to her. He was also social, could know a lot of other girls and-

What was he thinking? Was he supposing his brother could have done it? He shook his head violently, the guy was rebellious, not a murderer. The thought of so many people dying in his town just had him on edge. Besides, during the last case Alfred had hardly gone out of Arthur's sight at all, going through a phase of wanting to follow in his brother's footsteps. Until he saw the dead bodies, but to Arthur's mind, that had been all the better. It was bad enough he put himself in a job that worked so close to the underworld, Alfred didn't need to as well.

The git was too squeamish anyway, he'd never be able to kill.

He pulled his coat tighter around himself, looking up just in time to see through the window of a pub with many of the usual patrons inside. Out of curiosity, he searched the pub for a familiar face. Sure enough, Allistor was sitting at a stool with a cigar in one hand and a beer in the other. _Tch, typical._ He then looked to the person sitting beside him, gasping at the tall man with short, wild blond hair and blue eyes.

Matthias Lavsen?

His own eyes narrowed and he tip-toed closer to the window. What the devil…they hated each other! His brows quirked high when Allistor threw his head back in laughter while the blonde downed a shot of what appeared to be bourbon or whiskey.

What the hell!

Well, what did he know about the guy anyway? Yeah…he was a good detective—he got the job done and done well (though he hated admitting it.) But, what did he _know _ about him? He was Scottish, he lived…somewhere, no he lived in the East part of the city. Right? And…he…he…was…

Arthur stuffed his hands in his pockets with a grunt. _Who cares? It's not my business anyway._ With that thought, Arthur Kirkland continued on his way home under the darkening sky; though a burning sensation in his chest disrupted the usual peacefulness of the stroll.

**XXX**

"Ha! You know, I could've solved most of your cases in half the time you did!"

Allistor threw back his head and laughed, causing his fellow chief to frown mockingly at him as he downed his shot. "As if Matthias, ye sleep on all of ye cases! It's ye assistants who solve them."

An insulted look came over the man's face. "That is a lie! When have you once caught me asleep on the job?"

"Ye mean besides the tavern burning?"

"That was-"

"The break-in at Williams."

"Twice!"

"That's twice more than I."

The last sentence seemed distracted though, for Allistor could swear he had felt a familiar, heated gaze from the window of the bar, but as he stared out at the night he saw nothing. "What you see?"

Shaking his head, he turned back, taking the shot glass from his companion. "Nothing, what did ye help find at today's scene?"

On the job they could be the bitterest enemies to finish the case, but when it came to their own interests and protecting the town, the two men were as thick as thieves. And that friendship would be what they needed to connect all the clues.

Allistor gulped down a drink of beer, sighing as he set the cigar back on his lips. Matthias studied the Scot for a long moment before calling to the bartender for another shot. It was slid down within seconds, and he picked it up between with his fingers. He gazed into the bronze alcohol, and then back to Allistor.

"Pretty much the same things as you," said Matthias. He dipped his head back, downing another. "I don't know what to think of it...I've never seen a criminal like this one."

Allistor gazed at his cigar before blowing out a puff of smoke. "Yeah well, all that matters is that we catch him and be done with it."

A brisk nod was the response. "Well, here's to the death of that man." The two rims chimed softly together before they downed them. "Now," He grinned, "Let's compare rookies."

* * *

><p><strong>We are so sorry we haven't updated in forever! We've been working since October thirty-first on an original project but now that that's finished we can return to working on this!<strong>

**We decided to try something from the detective's point of view, and we also wanted it to be a Hetalia story. So we picked two of our favorite couples from it and went from there! XD**

**Please review and forgive us for such a long delay on our updates!**


	2. Case File: 2

**Brink of Eden**

**Chapter Two**

The sun's light hadn't been at all generous the next morning. Unconsciously, Allistor's lids tightened before he groaned in protest at the interruption of his dream. There was no way it was time to get up already…especially considering that it felt like he'd only laid his head down on the pillow moments ago.

The ticking clock seemed even louder and more bothersome than usual, which was definitely saying something, and soon the ticks were coinciding with the pounding in his head. When he turned on his side another dissent rumble crawled up his chest. It was nearly seven already, as the clock read, and upon seeing this he pushed himself out of bed while running a hand through his silky ginger hair. Maybe drinking with Matthias hadn't been the best idea…or, maybe he should have simply left the bar at an earlier hour. Either way, he needed to be on his way to the agency as soon as possible, though just the thought of the case made his blood boil and eyes wilt.

However, just as he made a move to stand a glare caught his eye, and he turned to see the lone picture frame atop the dresser across the room. A small smile formed on his lips as he stepped towards it, and he picked up the picture whilst memories flooded his thoughts.

A teenage him smirked challengingly at the person taking the picture, his arms wrapped around the neck of a man who was only a year younger, red hair brushing his shoulders as he tried to push his brother away. The other was an even younger female whose rich green eyes were filled with laughter as she tried to play the mature one of the siblings. It hadn't been long after the picture that his sister had gone her own way, with their brother soon departing as well. He was the only one left in their childhood town, and they were so busy that they rarely had a chance to get together, or even speak.

A loud ringing sounded through the house and he sighed, setting the frame down. It was most likely Kirkland, in early and wondering why he wasn't there yet.

"Scott," said Allistor as he picked up the phone.

"_Mornin, Scottie_," said the pleasant voice on the other line. Allistor's eyes widened at the familiar sound and he drew the phone away from his face, as if to examine it. But then another smile spread across his lips, and he leaned his bare back against the wall.

"Well, look who decided to call," he joked. "How are ye, Dylan?"

His younger brother laughed, and Allistor could clearly imagine his smiling face. Dylan had always been the more cheerful one of the family, and the most responsible. Though, sometimes he was known to have a drink if the occasion seemed suitable to him—but more often than not, Dylan was the one brining him home from the pub.

"_I'm surprised ye haven't come here to crash_," he said. "_With as often as ye get wasted_."

"Ay, I've got a new drinking buddy though, so we usually make sure the other gets home safely. Besides, ye home's a bit of a drive." He could feel relaxation flow through him at the casual banter between him and his sibling. Dylan had an odd sense of knowing when when his brother was thinking too hard for his own good. Since he'd moved to another town for a job he hadn't acted on it much, but when he did Allistor knew that it was time for him to sit back and find a way to relax.

This time, however, he wasn't going to have that chance.

Checking the time again, he answered the question about how he was before asking his own question. "I've got to be at the office soon. So if ye ain't busy, stop by sometime today, ay?"

"_Ah…no. Sorry, I can't._" Dylan's voice held a tremor of unease, which triggered the elder brother's protective manner.

"What is it, Dylan?" His tone pushed the point that he would not take kindly to him trying to avoid answering. "If it's some abusive partner ye got-"

A sharp laugh halted him, "_Oh, no, that was always your area right?_" The teasing tone died quickly. "_The news, about the warehouse..._?"

Allistor's eyes closed, he hadn't expected the news to travel so fast—rather, he hoped it wouldn't. "Ay…"

"_I saw it in the paper this morning_." He paused, "_Are ye on the case?_"

Allistor let out a small sigh. "Ay. Like I'd let anyone else take it."

The silence on the other end of the line was near deafening, but Dylan also let out a sigh. "_Be careful out there. Ye hear me, Scottie?_"

Allistor laughed, though the deepness of it wasn't well hidden. "Yeah, yeah, I hear ye." With a final farewell, Allistor hung up the phone before turning his gaze back to the picture frame. Well, he knew who the next call would be from if he didn't be on his way.

* * *

><p><em>Where the bloody hell <em>is_ he!_ Arthur tapped his fingers on his desk impatiently. The Chief was usually the first one to arrive in the mornings, and considering the case, how could he be late? He'd be damned if he had to deal with Bonnefoy alone! Not that he couldn't handle it; he could, he'd just rather _not_.

Allistor was probably in bed hung-over from the previous night, having been drinking with Matthias and all. Served him right! But, with three years he'd been working as Chief, the Scot had never once used the excuse of being hung-over for being late to work.

No, he'd usually come in hung-over and then take it out on _him_.

Arthur's eye twitched, but then he looked to the phone on his desk. Fine; he'd call and give him a firm piece of his mind!

"Mornin'."

_Speak of the devil…_

Arthur turned to see Allistor with his jacket slung over his shoulders and sleeves pushed up to his forearms, walking inside towards his desk. There were small circles under his eyes, but besides that he looked generally fine.

"Where have you been?" Arthur demanded, taking the chance to yell at his superior seeing as the other two team members hadn't shown up yet. He felt warmth rising to his cheeks as the Scottish man turned a teasing gaze upon him, and he fought it back fiercely. It was not embarrassing to make sure another could do their job!

Allistor watched the battle that the Brit thought he was concealing from his expression and smirked. Oh, the man was so easy to read and mess with at times, rather, _most_ of the time. "Worried about me, Arthur?" he asked, chuckling as the man flew into violent denial. "Calm down, will ye? I got a call from my brother is all."

The statement froze the Arthur's tirade. "You have a brother?"

Laughing as he turned to look at the open door where the missing team members were entering, Allistor threw a last shot at his entertainment and plopped down in his chair. "Ay, maybe if ye researched better ye'd know that."

Arthur fumed, "Like I would take time out of my day to research things about _you_!"

But it was too late, Allistor had already taken to speaking to the white-haired man who was setting his bag down on his desk. Ugh! He was so...so...ignorant! He couldn't help but notice the look in his Chief's eyes, though. There was something...different about them. Wait, why was he looking at his eyes? Arthur shook his head and sat back down in his seat, for some reason he couldn't find any of the missing person's files from the last case, which in turn made him wonder—

"Ah, here are the files you wanted," said Gilbert as he handed a folder to Allistor, who had since lit a cigarette and set it on his lips.

"Much thanks," he answered lowly, rolling back in his chair to prop his feet on the desk as he looked over them, making it clear to everyone that he had closed out the world for the moment.

Arthur studied him silently. _Are those…?_

Gilbert turned to look at the Italian sitting at his desk, filing away the last bit of evidence. "Any questions, rookie?" he asked, knowing that with all his fuming Arthur hadn't filled him in.

With a start, the auburn-haired man nodded with wide amber eyes. "Why does everyone seem to have some memory that's connected to this case?" His expression grew more concerned as his mentor sighed, dropping his head. "You don't have to answer if it's uncomfortable, Gilbert!"

Waving his hand, the albino sat on the edge of the desk. "Nein, I knew it would come up eventually. Might as well tell you now before you start hearing crazy rumors or something unawesome like that."

Feliciano Vargas listened intently as Gilbert explained to him the details of the previous cases; they've all been similar and there had been little to no forwardness in finding the culprit. The detectives were frustrated, even after spending hours upon hours scrounging around for the tiniest clue they haven't been able to get any closer to the truth.

"So," said Feliciano, "it's like a sort of grudge everyone here has towards the guy?"

Gilbert leaned forward with a nod. "Exactly like that." He smiled at the rookie with a cackle, "I knew you'd catch on quickly!"

Feliciano smiled at him with a nervous laugh. But his stomach growled then, and he sunk back in his chair with a sigh.

Concern flashing across his face, Gilbert leaned forward again. "Did ya eat this morning? You can't work if ya don't eat."

"He's right."

Two voices spoke this, one dead serious, came from Allistor, and the other was more, nasally, which belonged to a blonde man standing in the doorway with a sketchbook under his arm. "Bonjour, everyone."

Arthur's stomach twisted when the Frenchman's words were spoken, and he looked to see him walking into the office with a beam spread on his lips. The artist stopped at Feliciano's desk, rubbing his chin a bit before his eyes brightened immensely. "Hmm…I haven't seen you here before."

Gilbert clasped his hand on the Italian's shoulder. "This is our new rookie. Feliciano Vargas."

"Vargas, Vargas…" said Francis. It was as if a light bulb had gone off above his head, the way he snapped his fingers. "Would your brother happen to be Romano Vargas?"

The Italian smiled at the man, happy to hear his brother's name. "Yes, yes! You know Romano? That's wonderful!"

"Yes, a good enough model, when he shows up." With a shrug he moved on, causing Feliciano to look up at Gilbert in confusion.

The elder man shrugged. "He's an artist, don't pay him any mind when it comes to him and his thoughts of people."

Ignoring the statement being said behind his back, the Frenchman smiled widely at Allistor, "Where are the poor souls I have to show a poor imitation of?"

Allistor sighed, if this man wasn't the best he'd never have called him. The only one of the entire detective sector of the town who liked the man appeared to be Gilbert, and Arthur hated the man with a passion. That in turn always made the office the worst place to be when they were around. "This way, Francis." With an apologetic look as he passed the senior officer, he turned to lead the man to where the bodies were being kept.

He was required to stop however, when the man began speaking to the other blond.

"Iggy!" Francis exclaimed, his tone bright yet flat. "It certainly has been a while, hasn't it? You should call sometime!" His tone was bordering the edge of mockery as he leaned in closer to the Brit.

"Unfortunately, I'd like to have as little contact with you as possible," he said, leaning back.

Francis laughed and his smile grew wider, taking pride in Arthur's flaming eyes. "Don't be like that. You know—"

A hand on his shoulder stopped the Frenchman's words, and both looked up to see the ginger-haired Scotsman glaring at Francis. "Stop ye flirtin' with my senior officer and come sketch these faces." His tone was a little darker than usual, which peeked curiosity in the Brit. "Ye holdin' us back."

With that, Francis huffed out a sigh and followed Allistor. Arthur watched the two of them walk down the hall, Allistor with both hands in his pockets while Francis poked new conversation. The case must have the Chief on edge, because it was rare that he'd ever do anything to help him. But, it _was_ Francis, so…

As Allistor kept the artist on task by standing by his shoulder in a separate room, the rest of the team went back to reviewing the M.O. of the man. Besides spacing the kidnapping to not make them suspicious, not a single other fact about the killer was raised. He was careful, and he was a man who thought he had a purpose. What that was...may turn out to be more disturbing than the actual crime.

Until they figured out the identities of the girls though, no attempt at finding links could be found.

Arthur sighed and rubbed his eyes, they were already aching this early in the morning? They all wrote as neat as they could, though documents were still cramped and words were quick to blur together if one stared at them for a long period of time.

As if snapping the detectives out of a trance, the sound of falling footsteps bounded down the hall, and all looked up, each fearing the worst; another murder.

"Bro!" exclaimed a blonde teenager as he stopped in the doorway, his breath heavy. Arthur's head fell into his palm.

"Why are you here, Alfred?" he asked with a long sigh.

Alfred laughed, and when he took began walking towards him two other exasperated males ran in quickly behind him. One was another blonde with square glasses while the other had raven hair. Arthur knew these two to be a Canadian, Matthew Williams and a Japanese male, Kiku Honda. Both were close friends with his younger brother Alfred, and the only two he really liked him being around.

"W-we're sorry about this…" said Matthew, his soft-spoken manner not having changed over the years.

Kiku bowed slightly, "Pardon us, he set off at a run, and by the time we realized where he was heading he was already in the building."

"It's fine-"

"Whoa! Are you guys teaming up on me with my brother? Not cool!" Alfred exclaimed, and Arthur let his head sink into his arms as Allistor came walking out of the other room, eyes dark at the thought of his team getting distracted from the case. The Brit knew he was in for it now...

Pausing at the scene, the Chief blinked a couple of times before a smirk played on his lips. "Alfred, Honda-san, Matthew." He greeted, nodding to them each.

Bloody hell it was weird to hear Japanese words in a Scottish accent...wait...what?

Arthur's head shot up with a painful jerk, staring in confusion as Allistor talked to the three males about their current well-being. How did he know them, and what was he playing at? They weren't likely to know anything, they were teenagers for heaven's sake!

His own thoughts had led him to suspecting his own brother himself before though...

"Dude," said Alfred as he looked to his older brother. "You should invite me here more often, Iggy!" Arthur gazed at the cheery group blankly, eyes blinking before he settled back into his chair.

XXX

A few hours later Arthur stood beside one of the windows in the agency. Alfred and the others had long since left to go "chill" as Alfred described it, and the rest were simply waiting for Francis to be finished with his work. Allistor appeared to be growing impatient, having smoked more cigarettes than he had in a long while in an hour. Arthur sighed and looked back out the window. It was as if they were at the mercy of this guy...waiting for clues to appear at the drop of a hat. He hated it as much as anyone else, and more than anything at the moment, he wanted to continue on with the case.

"I'm finished," said Francis, entering the room to everyone's surprise. "I've done all I could with these...the first was easy enough. But the other three..." he rubbed his head as Allistor pushed himself from his chair, taking the four pictures from the Frenchman's hands.

"Thank you," said Allistor while the others began to crowd around him. Drift from the pictures his gaze did not, and he had to admit, he was never disappointed when it came to his Francis' artistic abilities.

"I hope you have good luck with them," the artist said. "Unfortunately, I have to get going. There's an art show..." his words trailed off into the air at the sight of the detectives studying his work, and a slight pitying sigh slipped past his lips before taking his leave.

Hair and eye color were beyond their reach at the moment, but the features were usually enough to get people talking about who it probably was. The first picture was a young girl, no older than fifteen, who was of Asian descent. Then a young woman with high cheek bones and a small forehead, followed by one with a wide nose and thin cheeks. Last on the pile was the oldest, and all that was revealed about her was the narrow, haunted looking shape of the face.

"It's better than what we had." Allistor said forcefully. "He seems to stay in teens to late twenties."

They all turned at a small cough, surprised to see the artist still there, "I could do better if I was allowed to take them with me or bring all my tools here to work on them." Francis stated, an oddly dedicated look in his eyes.

Allistor grimaced, torn by indecision. They really did need as much help as they could on this case, but the man was...himself, so he was reluctant to allow him to take the skulls home. The other option...those tools could be anything in the world knowing him. "No, they're fine."

Francis nodded, "I hope you find whoever is doing this..." His eyes seemed to dull. "The wounds are, all too familiar."

It was rare to see Allistor treating himself like he'd messed up, but the stricken look he had on his face as the man spoke made it obvious that was what he had done. He stepped forward before halting, looking at the man, "God, I forgot Francis...we will though. I swear to you, that."

The artist nodded, an understanding passing between the two. He turned and left then, and Allistor went to his desk. He pulled out his map of the town, proceeding to outline the areas each detective would cover with the pictures. Yet, as he barked out orders, England felt like there was even more missing from his knowledge of this case then he had thought.

* * *

><p>By the time night had fallen the pictures of the women had been released to the public. So far, no one had come forward knowing the victims, but hopefully by the next morning they would have more answers when the papers printed the pictures in the articles.<p>

Arthur Kirkland strolled down the street with his hands tucked into his coat pockets. He was glaring at the cement sidewalk, unbelieving that he was walking with the person beside him. Angry, he turned his gaze up to the Scot, a growl crawling up his chest.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

Allistor looked to him, brow quirked high. "What does it look like I'm doing? I'm walking, ya bampot."

Sighing heavily in annoyance, Arthur glared up at the man, "I meant with the case! Do you really think it'll help us catch the man if you withhold information?"

A sneer appeared on the man's lips. "I'm the chief and that's my call." he growled, before halting before the street. "This is where I'm off, can't say parting with ye came fast enough." Turning down the alley, the Brit caught a flash of light from the street light bounce off of something on the man's chest.

"Why do you still have your badge on?" he demanded. If someone got a hold of that piece of uniform and came across an untrained officer, they could get anything from them. Did the Scot think he was that high above regulations?

"I'm going to check out the warehouse again."

Arthur watched as the man continued walking down the street with one hand in his pocket and the other wrapped around the cigar on his lips. He was going there this late? What did he think he was going to find, now?

_Follow him_. He turned his head at the thought, but then turned back to the figure fading into the darkness with a sigh. What the hell did he have to lose?

Arthur waited a few moments before following the Chief across the street and down an alley. What they would find there, if anything at all, he couldn't begin to guess.

* * *

><p><strong>Well, it was harder than expect to get this chapter rolling, but it happened! And we hit most of our outline checkpoints! Whoo! More hidden history, and England getting into things that will only lead to trouble for him~<strong>

**America, Canada, and Japan! Whoo!**

**We hope you're enjoying this story! Please review~**

**~NightDreamers**


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